New Habit Ch 1
by Vampire Reader
Summary: In 1935, Mick is 13, a little young for Coralline, but she wants to get to know him better.
1. Chapter 1

NEW HABIT

NEW HABIT

1935 – Mick and his friends are 13. He was a lot more outgoing and happy in his pre-vampire days, and also a little more reckless. This is a continuation of First Date. The name of Mick's girlfriend is used with permission.

Coralline posed in front of the mirror, tucking stray curls under her starched wimple. "I can see the habit, but my face keeps blurring. How do I look?" she purred.

Cardinal Counting pursed his lips. "Delicious, if I didn't know you better. Who do you think you're going to fool in that get-up?" He took a sip of blood from the chalice and looked up at her from the easy chair.

"It won't be for very long," she said. "I need an excuse to get closer to this boy. I'm evaluating his potential."

"For what?"

"One of us, when I think he's ready of course. His name is Mick St. John. He's 13 at the moment, but he's filling out well. I can't keep accidentally bumping into him on the streetcar and in front of movie theaters. He might start to wonder. He's already got a girlfriend, so I know he's not shy. Ronnette is her name, I think. He's too engrossed with her right now to notice an older woman who has designs on her boyfriend." She licked her lips and closed her eyes thoughtfully. "But that doesn't matter since I usually get what I want. Let's see how I can get to know him better. Perhaps a little careful maneuvering?"

"If you want your future plans to be fulfilled, you don't want that," Cardinal Counting said. "Well, maybe you do, but not yet. I seriously recommend retracting those fangs. He's still too tender and thirteen is not a good age for a vampire. He'd hold it against you the rest of his undead life."

"Therefore, the charade," said Coralline, sighing and posing again, hand on hip. "You're right. He won't remember meeting me, but someday, when the time comes, he'll feel our connection. That, I'm sure of." She snapped her fingers and smiled, just the tips of her fangs visible. "Mouse in a trap. Pretty mouse."

With her chin supported on her crossed fingers, she reminded Cardinal Counting of a prayerful cat wondering how long to play with her prey before she pounced down for the coup de grâce. "Pretty trap," said the Cardinal.

She sat down and piously lowered her smoky-colored eyes. "I'll be Sister Anne Marie, on temporary leave from my convent in Paris to teach a special art course to the students at Saint Agatha's. Tell the Mother Superior I'm staying with you so she won't expect me to eat in the refectory. I remember enough from my convent school days to pull it off if they don't look at me closely."

"You don't want to make too much of an impression. What if this Mick boy remembers you later?" He set down his empty cup. "You might scare him off."

"Don't worry, Armand. How many of your teachers do you remember from when you were 13?" He smiled, not saying a word. "I'm not going to be _that_ memorable; not yet anyway," she said. The empty chalice reminded her she felt a bit hungry herself. She nodded toward the curtain-covered icebox. "Is there enough for me in there too? I don't want to have to look for a bite while I'm dressed like this. Someone might get the right idea. Where do you get this from anyway?"

"From the biggest investor in Hollywood - our friend Josef. He has starlets lined up to give blood in exchange for auditions. He doesn't tell them why he needs it and they think it has something to do with the movies he's producing. It's a new kind of casting couch. That's aside from his regular fresh donors who know about us. I'm sure he's made some of them available to you during your visit." She nodded. "He sends me a supply twice a week. It wouldn't do for a cardinal to be noticed frequenting jazz clubs and houses of ill repute. The Church might hear of it. We all have to keep undercover, as it were, even in Los Angeles." He nodded to the private icebox. 'Help yourself."

Coralline filled a coffee cup from the bottle and took a swig, savoring the blood on her tongue before swallowing. "For bottled, it nearly tastes fresh. Who would have thought? No heartbeat, no screams. It could get boring after a while."

"Still, it's useful. Who can guess what humans will come up with next to make life easier for vampires? Wipe your lips, girl," Cardinal Counting advised. "You should learn to be less messy when you eat." He came to a decision. "All right. I'll put together a little introduction and walk you to the school. You'll be the youngest daughter of the last curator of the Lourve Museum. Do you think you can keep in character?"

"Let me think. I lived there when it was still a palace, before my dear cousin Louis Sixteen lost his stupid head. I know my way around art, and the French accent comes naturally when I'm not concentrating on sounding American. They won't cable for details with you there to vouch for my authenticity. Let's do it."

Coralline set down the empty cup and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. "Damn," she said. "Blood on my habit."

If you read this, I hope you will be good enough to share your thoughts on what I did

with the characters.


	2. Chapter 2

NEW HABIT – PART II

NEW HABIT – PART II

1935 – Mick and his friends are 13. He was a lot more outgoing and happy in his pre-vampire days, and also a little more reckless. This is a continuation of First Date. The name of Mick's girlfriend is used with permission.

When Mother Superior walked into the 9th Grade Art class at Saint Agnes, the uniformed students rose as one to curtsey and bow. It was only then that they noticed the dignified Cardinal in one of his less formal robes of office. Still, this was Cardinal Counting and that deserved another polite show of respect. "I believe you all know Monsignor Counting," said Mother Superior. "He has graciously visited our class with a special guest all the way from Paris. Cardinal Counting, thank you for coming. The class is ready for you."

Mother Superior stepped aside and the older man replaced her at the podium. "Your regular art teacher, Sister Therese, will save her lesson for another day. Sister Anne Marie, who took her vows in Paris, is in Los Angeles for a short visit. Her father was curator at the Lourve. I'm sure you are all familiar with the greatest museum of Paris. It holds art and furniture from the best-known artists and periods of European History. Please welcome Sister Anne Marie."

Coralline had been standing behind him, completely hidden from most of the students during the beginning of her introduction. She peek around him and glanced at the classroom, pleased to see photos of artwork and cathedrals, most spectacularly Notre Dame, hanging on the walls. The students were still standing. The girls' uniforms were blue checks with formal apron over loose white blouses and gray skirts. The boys wore stiff dark slacks and white, long sleeved shirts with blue ties. How she had hated convent school! Two hundred years later and they hadn't changed much. Neither had nun's habits, and hers was itchy. She made a point of ignoring it while she searched for the youth she expected to see, young Mick St. John.

When she stepped out from behind the Mother Superior and Armand, she gave the class her most captivating smile. She noticed happily that Mick's mouth hung open. He couldn't take his eyes off her until the girl at his side gave him what was supposed to be a secret kick with her toe that shouldn't have been seen behind their joined desks. "Please, all of you, take your seats," she said.

In the general sounds of wooden chairs being moved and scraped across wooden floors, a human wouldn't have heard a whisper, but that didn't stop Coralline. "Close your mouth," hissed Ronnette. "She sees you."

"But, she's gorgeous," he whispered, unable to stop the words. Ronnette glared at him. At least he did close his mouth.

Between the photographs and her memories, Coralline managed to get through the first day. She told the students that music was a part of art, and both were a form of prayer. She would give each of them a chance to either make her a picture to critique or play for her. She already knew Mick had been practicing the trumpet.

It was several days later when he had a private interview with the beautiful French nun. Ray and Lila said she showed little interest in their drawings, both of them based on the sights of Paris pictured in their art books. "Why do you care what she thinks of your trumpet playing?" Ray asked.

"I dunno," Mick responded. "It doesn't really matter, I guess."

"I saw her yesterday and I don't think she's really interested in us," said Ronnette. "If you fall over your feet when you walk into her interview, she's going to laugh at you. She's a nun. She only thinks about Heaven. Wipe that stupid look off your face."

Mick held his trumpet under his arm when he walked into the Cardinal's study, temporarily being used for Sister Anne Marie's private interviews with the students. She looked up from the pile of drawings on the desk and gave him a welcoming smile. Regardless of Ronnette's warning, he felt his knees grow weak and he reached for a corner of the nun's desk for support.

The nun didn't laugh, but she reached for his instrument and asked him to take a seat. "A trumpet?" she asked, looking at it. "Well, they say the Archangel Gabriel plays the trumpet. Have you ever thought of going into seminary?"

"Seminary?" Although Mick's voice had pretty much finished changing, it squeaked. "Be a priest? Me?"

"It sounds as though the celibate life is not for you," said Sister Anne Marie. She shrugged her shoulders. "It doesn't matter. If you can play like an angel, you'll do well enough. Let me hear something." She handed the trumpet back to him.

He took it, still looking between his instrument and the face of the nun, and wondered what to play. "Well, I like Armstrong and Davis. They sound like heaven to me. Have you ever heard of swing over there in Paris? Jazz? Blues?" She shrugged again and motioned for him to begin. He put the mouthpiece to his lips and began to play a piece he liked.

She listened for a while. He wasn't bad; in fact he showed promise. When he stopped, she stood up. "Do you realize you are playing the Devil's music?" she asked sweetly. "Such sounds put impure thoughts into people's heads."

"Huh?"

"Listen," she said and picked up the guitar that rested on the couch behind her. She lifted the strap over her head and adjusted the pick to her finger. He sank back while she played, lifting her beautiful voice to a French hymn. "That's holy music," she said when she finished. "Think about learning to play the guitar. If you aren't planning to go into seminary, what are your plans, Mr. St. John?"

Mick sat up straighter. He was tired of sounding like a stricken schoolboy even if that is what he was. "I might go to medical school if my family can afford it," he said. "I've always been interested in how things work. You know – bodily organs." That came out wrong and he began to blush again. "I mean kidneys and lungs when I say organs. You understand?" How could he talk to a nun like this? It was as though someone was pulling his strings and he was a marionette. "I'm interested in treating sick people by studying things like, well, blood. Karl Landsteiner just discovered there are different blood types and that can make transfusions go much better."

Sister Ann Marie's face lightened. "What an excellent idea. You're a boy with many interests. I hope you will succeed." With that, she dismissed him with a warm smile that made his heart beat faster.

Before he left for home that day, he told Ronnette, Ray and Lila he was staying behind for a while. He wanted to swim in the pool. What he really wanted to do was cool down after the way Sister Anne Marie left him feeling.

He was floating in the semi dark of the basement pool when he heard a splash and looked around. He hadn't heard the door open and there didn't seem to be anyone else there. He swam a few laps, then turned onto his back again, trying to clear his mind. The dim light bulbs made the water appear green. Their reflections swayed on the ripples left by his exertions. "Shh," said a sweet voice.

"Who's there?"

"No one. You're dreaming."

The nun was stunningly naked. Water dripped from her hair like a mermaid. Were there mermaids? Strong arms turned him to her and caressed his cheeks and his limbs. He felt and saw breasts, so beautiful, so soft, but cold. He saw pale legs no statue of Venus could match, and the soft triangle of dark hair above them. The image or dream, whatever it was, leaned against him. His breath came harder, but she didn't seem to breath at all. "You can't be real," he protested, "but I wish you were."

"Not yet. Someday," said the sweet voice of Sister Anne Marie.

He closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them, she was gone.

If you read this, I would very much appreciate your thoughts on it. Please review.


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